


down

by astratic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, College AU I guess?, Depression, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Panic Attacks, im not gonna properly tag that cuz its not really, kenma uses they pronouns, shouyou is depressed and he has like an identity crisis about it, this is shou is depressed: the fanfic, uhhh lots of depression, yachi is a mentally ill icon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astratic/pseuds/astratic
Summary: It's not that Shouyou is being especially difficult; it's just that he's in a difficult position—but that doesn't make him any less infuriatingly stubborn. The truth—which you are trying to tell him—is that he needs to pull back. Level himself out. He's so used to endlessly throwing himself at life until it gives him what he wants that he doesn't know how to play defensively. He won't talk to his professors about his illness or his anxiety or his ADHD; he won't go to therapy…you sense that he's on a collision course, but you're not sure if—in his whole life—he has ever really tried to avoid one.





	down

You try to remember the way Kenma and your therapist told you to breathe when you need to calm down, but it's escaping you (like most things) (unlike your breath, which you're holding now).

A wave of pain rolls through your gut, and you think a string of curses you can't say out loud.

This has been happening more and more lately—IBS flare-ups triggered by anxiety, your doctor says—whatever it is, it's embarrassing and annoying. College is hard enough without having to leave class to run to the bathroom all the time.

You check the clock. Ten minutes left. Instead of sticking it out like you maybe should, you grab your bag and notebook and book it out the door and down the hall. There are a few things you appreciate about college, and being able to go to the bathroom without asking might be your favorite.

\---

[Shouyou] 11:39  
Hey are u up

[Kenma] 11:40  
dont text in class shou

[Shouyou] 11:40  
I'm not in class :(

[Kenma] 11:41  
sick again?

[Shouyou] 11:41  
Yes. Very

[Kenma] 11:42  
very? whats going on?

[Shouyou] 11:43  
Uuuuhhh…both ends

[Kenma] 11:43  
GROSS

[Shouyou] 11:44  
:(

[Kenma] 11:45  
are u coming home?

[Shouyou] 11:47  
Are u gonna try to convince me not to

[Kenma] 11:48  
not if youre sick. you know that

[Shouyou] 11:50  
Ur a good mom :')

[Kenma] 11:52  
-_-'

[Shouyou] 11:55  
I love u

[Kenma] 12:00  
do u have practice today?  
shouyou?

[Shouyou] 12:11  
GHHFHHFGHFGJ FUUUCK

[Kenma] 12:11  
skip it

[Shouyou] 12:11  
CAN'T SKIP IT

[Kenma] 12:12  
then come home and rest before it starts

[Shouyou] 12:13  
:((((((((

[Kenma] 12:13  
see you in ten?

[Shouyou] 12:14  
;((((((((((((

\---

You curl up in bed and Kenma brings you an ice pack and a cold cloth, the former of which you put against your stomach and the latter of which they use to wipe gently at your face.

"This one's bad, huh?" They say, clicking their tongue. They do that when they think you're being irresponsible, but you don't really think that's fair at the moment. Instead of saying so, you groan pitifully.

The ice pack is mostly for the nausea, but it doesn't seem like it's helping much. When you get up and bolt to the bathroom with no warning, Kenma follows and waits dutifully outside the door. They put an arm around your waist as you walk back to bed, as if they're afraid you'll fall.

You curl up around the ice pack again, facing the other direction this time, and Kenma presses themself into your back. It's special, you think, to be given their undivided attention like this. You wish you could enjoy it.

"You're all sweaty," they mumble into your shirt, "Gross."

You're sweating from pain and not from exertion—still, you feel exhausted. You pick up your phone and check the time: an hour until you have to leave for volleyball practice.

Kenma pets your hair, reading your mind as always, "You have to let yourself rest."

"I can't. I'm trying."

"Stay home, then. Sleep."

Irritation blooms in you, and you sit up on the edge of the bed, pulling away from them. You double over, staring at the floor, and wish for the tightness in your chest to go away.

"Shouyou—"

"I have to work extra hard because I'm not smart and I'm not tall and nobody thinks I'm good enough to be in college or play volleyball! I don't have time to rest, and I can’t skip practice."

They put a hand on your shoulder and you flinch away.

They sigh, "You have to rest when you're sick. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm sick all the time!" You cry, your voice going shrill. The tension in your chest feels like a pinching pain now, and the force of yelling sends another wave of nausea through you. You slide to the floor and brace yourself against the side of the mattress, trying to breathe.

"Hey," says Kenma, reminding you automatically, "Quick breaths first. Shallow—don't hyperventilate. Good. Slow, deep breaths to calm down."

They're quiet for some minutes as you fight off a panic attack. You grab the little trash bin by the table and barf again, but your stomach is empty. All that comes up is acid.

"I'm sorry, Shouyou."

You find yourself crying before you can do anything to stop it: because your throat burns and your stomach hurts and you feel like Kenma, of all people, is no longer on your side. The tears come out in a rush—a waterfall down your face. Anime tears, your mother used to call them.

"I don't know what to do!" It feels like someone punched you and all your breath escaped in a burst, "I can't keep up in my classes! I keep getting sick and having to leave! I can't focus on volleyball! And now you're telling me to skip practice when you always encourage me—"

"Shouyou! Hey," Kenma rolls off the bed and plants themself in front of you about three times as fast as they ever normally move. It shocks you into silence for a second, and they continue, "Shou…Baby," they go to put their hands on your face but then stop and clasp them instead, "Stress is making you sick. I know you're—you’re used to being full of energy and possibility, but you have limits. I'll always encourage you…I just want you to take care of yourself." Their knuckles are white as they wring their hands.

"I just want you to support me like you always do."

A shadow crosses their face, and they school their features into something more gentle before they answer. "I'm not going to support you hurting yourself."

You put your arms around their waist and pull them toward you, into your lap. Kenma rubs your shoulders as you bury your face against their chest. You try hard not to feel betrayed; you know they're right even if their words are too blunt. You also don't know what you're supposed to do, though.

"When was the last time you went to therapy."

You are silent.

"Shouyou?"

"I don't remember."

"You should go. Maybe every week?"

You grimace into their shirt. They can't see, but you don't think they need to. Their fingers dig slightly into your shoulders.

"Shou—"

"It doesn't help," it comes out muffled.

"What?"

"The therapist makes me feel stupid!" You feel hot tears threatening to start pouring again, so you pull out of their grip and stare up at the ceiling.

"What? Why?"

You are silent.

"Your—your therapist—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

You avoid Kenma's gaze as they study you. You can tell they're irritated but trying not to show it—great, you think, aren't we all.

"Shouyou—"

"I have to go. Let me up, please."

"You don't have to leave for another forty-five minutes."

"Please, Kenma."

They get up. So do you.

"You should eat something," they say half-heartedly.

"I don't feel like it."

You try not to slam the door on your way out.

\---

You watch out the window as Shouyou climbs on his bike and leaves, waiting until he is definitely out of earshot, and then you scream into a pillow.

It's not that Shouyou is being especially difficult; it's just that he's in a difficult position—but that doesn't make him any less infuriatingly stubborn. The truth—which you are trying to tell him—is that he needs to pull back. Level himself out. He's so used to endlessly throwing himself at life until it gives him what he wants that he doesn't know how to play defensively. He won't talk to his professors about his illness or his anxiety or his ADHD; he won't go to therapy…you sense that he's on a collision course, but you're not sure if—in his whole life—he has ever really tried to avoid one.

You think maybe you should have gone with him to practice to look out for him—maybe warn him before he takes a serve to the face—but you're worried that might have upset him more.

You go to the kitchen and microwave some ramen. You've never been good at taking care of people. You barely know how to take care of yourself—Tetsurou looked after you a lot as a kid, before you knew how to manage your anxiety and depression, or even what they were. You know some basic breathing exercises that you taught to Shouyou to help with his anxiety, but you're not the nurturing type. Usually that's fine; Shou is not generally the type that needs nurturing.

When you were a teenager—when you first met him—he really seemed invincible. Even as you got to know him more and realized that he had panic attacks like you did, he seemed like he was on a different level of living. It wasn't that he ever seemed perfect or invulnerable—it was just, somehow, that he was deeply flawed in ways that only ever served to accentuate his brilliance and drive his potential. You wonder what changed.

Maybe you just didn't live with him back then. Maybe he always struggled like this.

You don't really think so, though. You think maybe it's just that adulthood is catching up with him. It's easy to think you can do anything when you're 16 and have the soul of a Ghibli character personifying the sun, but once you're 21 and trying to balance college classes and sports and a part-time job and you realize you've never learned any decent coping skills—well, the frustration is understandable.

You sit down with your ramen and open your phone. 4 texts from Tetsurou:

[Tetsurou] 12:25  
What's wrong  
Hey call me when you get this I know something's up  
You hung up mid-rant about some video game thing I didn't understand or care about so something must really be wrong

[Tetsurou] 12:42  
Kenma

[Kenma] 13:02  
im fine  
shou came home early from class sick again and we had a…fight  
kind of  
dont feel like calling

[Tetsurou] 13:04  
A fight kind of?

[Kenma] 13:06  
i mean like  
like he was really upset and stressed and  
i was trying to make him feel better but i said something that upset him i guess and he left  
i dont really know why

[Tetsurou] 13:08  
You did that thing again where you act kind of surly and frustrated because you don't know how to help but he interpreted it as you being fed up and/or angry with him  
?

[Kenma] 13:08  
shut the fuck up kuroo

[Tetsurou] 13:09  
I'm just trying to get a handle on the situation  
I know you're worried about him but shouyous not the kinda kid who responds well to being told bluntly what to do when he feels sick and stressed out  
Not many kids are

[Kenma] 13:11  
stop calling him a kid hes like 2yrs younger than u

[Tetsurou] 13:11  
If anyone who's 2 years younger than me is a kid it's him  
You know I'm an old soul

[Kenma] 13:12  
youre a creep actually

[Tetsurou] 13:12  
What's the distinction?

[Kenma] 13:13  
why do i even talk to you

[Tetsurou] 13:14  
Because you have no social skills  
You can read people plain as day but you have no idea how to actually deal with them

[Kenma] 13:17  
i know shouyou. hes the only person whos easy to deal with. hes just…weird lately

[Tetsurou] 13:18  
He's working on a breakdown I'd guess based on what you've told me

[Kenma] 13:18  
i know

[Tetsurou] 13:20  
You're going to hate this suggestion but has he talked to his mom lately  
I know you're allergic but not everybody has a bad relationship with their parents you know

[Kenma] 13:21  
…why do you have to be like that

[Tetsurou] 13:22  
Because I know what you're going to say before you say it  
Consequence of growing up together say  
But he's close to his mom right  
I just wonder if she knows what's been going on with him lately

[Kenma] 13:24  
i dont think so. he IS avoiding visiting home  
i dont know why but i wasnt inclined to ask

[Tetsurou] 13:25  
You wouldn’t be  
But maybe you should  
It's weird for him right

[Kenma] 13:26  
yes. i hate u when ur right.  
u get so smug

[Tetsurou] 13:26  
Don't I earn it though?

[Kenma] 13:27  
ill text u later. get your ego under control

[Tetsurou] 13:27  
Call me later K

[Kenma] 13:27  
so i can see your smug face? no

[Tetsurou] 13:28  
Call me

[Kenma] 13:28  
later

You put your phone down and realize your ramen has gone lukewarm and soggy.

\---

You regret leaving the apartment as soon as you're out the door.

You don't ever like leaving Kenma on an unhappy note, but right now especially you just feel very sick. On top of the pain in your gut and the persistent haze of nausea, there are the residual pangs in your chest from the almost-panic attack you had and a weak trembly feeling from not eating for fear of everything coming back up. You don't think you can go to practice.

But you can't bear to go back home either, not after storming out like that when Kenma was just trying to look out for you.

You get off your bike and sit down right on the sidewalk when you get a couple blocks away. You're tempted to text Kenma right away and apologize, but anxiety still gnaws in your stomach and you know it'll only make it unbearable if they don't answer. Instead, you dial someone else.

Kageyama picks up on the second ring, "Oi, dumbass."

His rudeness sparks a familiar, easy animosity. "You don't even say hello now? Just, 'Oi, dumbass'? Who raised you, Bakageyama?"

"I don't have to say hello to you. I'll see you in like a half hour at practice. I'll say hello then."

"You never say hello to me at practice! Just some shit like, 'Hinata, you're late,' or, 'Hinata, come practice your jump serve. It's still bad,' or, 'Hinata, your new sneakers are ugly.'" You pick up pebbles and toss them into the road as you talk.

"Saying your name is basically a greeting," he says, almost sheepish.

"Not the way you say it, idiot."

"Stupid."

"Jackass."

He grunts in affirmation, like a quota has been met, "Why'd you call me, Hinata? Just to call me names?"

"You started it! Bakageyama. I can't come to practice today."

"What? Why?"

"I'm sick."

"Sick?" Instead of concerned, Kageyama sounds affronted—there's something refreshing about it. "Too sick for volleyball? What's wrong with you?"

You grunt, "I don't have to tell you, asshole. And I won't when you ask like that. I'll be there on Wednesday."

"You'd better. Practice is basically pointless if you're not there." He hangs up.

Talking to Kageyama leaves a very straightforward kind of annoyance in you that's a lot easier to deal with than any of your other feelings. Your head feels clearer than before.

You look up and realize clouds are gathering overhead and it'll probably rain soon, which means you should get off the street. You call your coach and tell him you can't make it to practice, and then you get on your bike and head to the only other place you can think to go.

\---

[Shouyou] 13:02  
Hello. I am outside  
Can I come in and hang out for a while  
Sorry I didn't call first its a weird day

[Shouyou] 13:07  
Pls answer I feel like am going to pass out and it's about to rain

[Hitoka] 13:08  
Pass out!?  
I see you. Come on up…and BE CAREFUL!?

\---

Yachi looks panicked when she opens the door, "Shouyou? Are you okay? Why did you—"

You hold out your hands in a calming gesture, "I'm fine! I should know better than to say something like that to you, sorry. I just don't feel well."

She ushers you inside and makes you lie down on the couch despite your protests, but honestly you appreciate it.

"You look pale. What's going on? Why aren't you at home? Why are you riding your bike? If you passed out in the street you could—" she crouches beside your head and puts a hand to your forehead.

"Hitoka! I am not going to pass out! I was being dramatic; I'm sorry."

Yachi squints at you suspiciously, "Alright. I will give you that you are prone to hyperbole. What about the other stuff, though? You should be at home if you're sick. You don't have a fever, but you are pale."

"It's, um," you rub a hand over your face, "I kind of had an argument with Kenma and stormed out. It was dumb and I feel really bad about it and they're probably worried."

"Oh, Shouyou," Yachi stands and goes to the kitchen area and starts rattling around, "Do you want some tea? Something to eat? I get the feeling you probably haven't."

"Um, yes tea. Ginger? I don't think I can eat anything though. I keep throwing up."

She puts the kettle on and comes back over. You move so she can sit and then put your head in her lap. She strokes your hair absently.

"What did you fight about?"

You groan, "Do we have to do this? I'm gonna get all upset again. And it's stupid."

She scratches behind your ear as if you're a cat. It's bizarrely pleasant, "No, you don't have to talk about it. But you came here for a reason, right?"

"I came here because of the rain."

"Okay."

A few seconds pass. She continues scratching lightly at your scalp.

"They told me I needed to skip practice, and I said, 'I can't,' and it felt like they just wouldn't li—"

"Practice? You're not going to practice without eating anything." It's not a question. You meet her alarmed gaze and get the impression that if you tried to go now, you would be physically prevented.

"No!" You assure her, holding out your hands, "I'm not planning on it. I already called Kageyama and Coach."

"Okay," she says, "So what's the issue with Kenma?"

You sigh, "That's what I was saying—that's why the whole thing was so dumb. But it just felt like they wouldn't actually listen to me, like they kept saying stuff I already know, like, 'You need to rest,' but then wouldn't, like, acknowledge why I can't, and they seemed frustrated with me and annoyed, like I'm just not doing it right."

Yachi picks at a bit of fuzz on your shirt, "Doing what right?"

You wave your hands vaguely, "Gh—I don't—I don't know! Being sick, having anxiety? Like I'm not dealing with it in the right way, and they think I should know better. But I don't!"

"Shou, have you ever been to a therapist?"

You cover your face with your hands, "UGH, Kenma said that too. That I should see my therapist every week."

Her hand stills, "Wait, you said you felt like Kenma was expecting you to just know everything you should do, but they told you to go to therapy?"

You grumble under your breath, "Yeah, but I—"

"What?"

"Yeah! They did! But I don't like my therapist! I always feel worse when I talk to her."

Yachi knits her brow and looks pained, "Therapy is where you learn that stuff. It kinda sounds like Kenma is just, um, having trouble expressing themself, but they were trying to tell you this. If you don't like your therapist, you should get a new one."

The kettle whistles, and you move so she can go get it. She brings you your tea and then stands in the middle of the room, gesturing to herself.

"You think I'm functional, right? You think I'm, like, smart and put-together and know what I'm doing?"

You think about last Friday at the farmers’ market, when she panicked and hit someone with a leek. You nod, "Yeah, mostly."

She puts a hand to her chest, "I attend therapy twice a week and sometimes extra if I need it. I have OCD and schizophrenia that are controlled with medication. 'Go to therapy,' is not throwaway advice, Shou. Kenma is right."

You frown and sip your tea. It's good—if you liked ginger tea, which you don't. Yachi's words mostly just make you feel worse for walking out like you did. She sits back down beside you.

"So…I guess I should go apologize."

She laces her fingers, "I mean, maybe. But I kinda doubt Kenma would be mad at you. They're not really the type. I think the biggest issue here is you. Are you okay, Shouyou? All this—it's not like you. I've never known you to be angry at Kenma."

"I'm not angry at Kenma!" It comes out louder than you intended. You clear your throat, "Sorry. I mean, I'm not, no. Okay, I mean. I'm not really okay. I mean—" you shake your head, "I'm fine! It's not a big deal. It's just—I know I'm not really myself, and I hate it. I hate fighting with Kenma. It wasn't even really a fight! I was just overwhelmed. I'm sure they think I was mad, though."

"I think it'll be okay. And that's coming from me!" She laughs awkwardly and picks up your phone from where you dropped it on the table, "Maybe text them, though? Tell them you're with me."

Yachi gets up and goes to the kitchen again, rummaging around.

[Shouyou] 14:08  
Hey  
I'm sorry  
I'll do a real apology when I get home but I thought I oughta lead with that

[Kenma] 14:09  
shouyou  
its ok. im sorry. are you ok? where are you? i texted tobio he said you called and told him you werent coming to practice

[Shouyou] 14:11  
Yeah I did. I just needed to get away. I was overwhelmed I'm sorry

[Shouyou] 14:14  
I'm at yachi's. I'm feeling a little better now. I kinda think she is not going to let me leave until I eat something though  
She's banging around all menacing in the kitchen -.-'

[Kenma] 14:16  
its ok. i love you  
we'll talk when you get home ok? please eat something

[Shouyou] 14:17  
Ok. I love you too

Yachi sets a bowl of miso in front of you and ruffles your hair, "Good?"

You sigh at the bowl, trying hard not to feel repulsed.

"Yeah," you say finally, "it's all good."

\---

You end up taking a nap at Yachi's apartment and feel a lot better when you wake up. The two of you order takeout and watch a movie together before you bike home when she has to go to work.

Kenma is sitting near the door playing a game on their phone. They practically jump up when you enter but then hesitate.

"Hey," they say.

"Hey," you hold your arms open, and Kenma fills them. A knot you hadn't realized was there finally loosens in your chest.

You kiss their forehead and then their cheek. They try to kiss your mouth, but you pull away, stammering, "I need to brush my teeth! I don't know what my breath is like, but it can't be good."

They laugh as you run off, following you to the bathroom and winding their arms around your waist from behind as you brush your teeth.

Afterward, when you've both stumbled into bed and you’re in the middle of a much-deserved kiss on the lips, you think about the stuff you need to talk about…and how much you don't want to talk about it.

Kenma notices you falter, "Shouyou?" They say into your kiss, "What's wrong?"

You pull back and blink hard a few times—you so do not want to cry again—and Kenma sits up and holds their arms open. You settle against their chest with your arms around their midsection, and then you sigh.

"I'm sorry. About earlier. It was stupid of me to leave like that. I regretted it as soon as I was outside."

Kenma frowns, "You could have just come back."

"I—" you don't want to say, 'I was too embarrassed.'

They seem to understand anyway.

"Shou, sometimes you—" they falter and go silent for a minute, but you know they're gathering their thoughts, so you wait. You press your face into their shirt and inhale—they smell like soap and laundry. They must have just bathed.

When they continue, it's halting, but you don't mind. "Sometimes I don't know what to say to you. I'm—honestly, I'm not used to you needing that from me, and I'm not saying it's bad, but you—you're normally the one picking up after me. Because you're so strong and brilliant and so good with people and at knowing what to say. I'm not. And I'm sorry—I think—I worry it makes me seem cold. I don't want you to feel like I don't care or I’m angry. I'm just frustrated with—with my own—in-inability to—"

"Shh," you lace your fingers with theirs and squeeze their hand, stopping them before they get really stuck and upset, "I know. I should know better, shouldn't I? I've just been—I dunno. Wrong, lately? Extra stupid?"

"Don't call yourself stupid."

"I don't know what else to call it."

"Burnt-out."

"Burnt-out," you repeat. There's something defeated about that, but you think that might be a good way to describe it, too—defeated. Still, some small, guilty part of you feels relieved to actually admit there's a problem.

"What I said about your therapist—"

"I know. Yachi told me the same thing."

"You can get a different therapist, Shou. I'm not trying to preach to you, but I really—I can't help you like a therapist can. I'm sorry."

You take a deep breath, "I'm just scared of all that, you know?"

"What?"

"I'm—" you wave your hand around uncertainly, "I don't want to need all that—? And that's—um—I know you have been in therapy and all that for a long time, and that's fine and good, but I've never—I don't want to be that. I don't want to need therapy and medicine and stuff because I—I'm the person that people look at for inspiration and, uh, lightheartedness, and like—wow, I sound like an asshole—"

"Yeah, kinda," says Kenma, but they chuckle.

You run a hand through your hair, "Do you know what I mean? I'm, like—my mom always calls me Sunshine. If I'm suddenly, like, going to therapy all the time, like something is wrong—"

"Shouyou, something is wrong."

You sit up and put your hands over your face and groan.

"Hey—"

"I'm okay!" You announce too loudly, rubbing roughly at your eyes.

Kenma's hand falls light on your arm, "It's okay if you're not." They pull your hands away from your face, peering at you from under their hair, "You know? It's okay if you're not…okay. You can admit it. You don't have to be like sunshine all the time, Shou. What a tall order."

"I—" and then you cry again, despite your best efforts. You slump over your crossed legs and sob into your calves like you're doing some really tragic yoga.

Kenma holds onto your hands and twiddles with your fingers, but they don't say anything. You cry hard for about a minute, and then your tears dry up all at once. You don't look up immediately.

"Shouyou, is—" Kenma sighs and squeezes your fingers, "Is this why you've been avoiding your mom?"

You sit up and take your hands back and bury them in your hair, tugging at it nervously. You don't know how to answer.

Kenma backtracks almost instantly, "I—I mean, you don't have to—"

"I don't want my mom to worry about me."

They fall silent, waiting. They hand you a tissue from the bedside table, and you use it to clean your face.

"I mean—a-after my dad died, we were just—my mom said she relied on me to, um, keep her going. Back then, Natsu was just a baby, and my mom was all alone except for me. It's bad enough that now I moved away to go to college. I don't want her to be alone again."

"You were eight."

"What?"

"Shouyou, when your dad died, you were eight. I know your mom didn't expect you to—to be—" they wave their hand vaguely as they get hung up, "You—you don't have to do that. And anyway, you'll have problems whether you acknowledge them or not. Don't you think it's better to get help when you need it and then be more able to help people when they need you?"

You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, "It's just too much that way. If I say I have a problem, it's like—like I already failed. My mom is—my mom doesn't think of me like that. I don't want her to."

Kenma looks incredulous, and it takes you off guard.

"What?"

"Your mom thinks of you as her son! Not as a—it's not—your mom doesn't want you to be perfect. She already knows, like, everything about you. You had panic attacks in high school."

You frown, "Yeah, but it wasn't like this."

Kenma blinks at you. "What is 'this'?" They make quotes in the air with their fingers.

You make grasping motions in the air as you try to articulate what you mean, "This is like—like, I'm not me. It wasn't this bad before; I had panic attacks and stuff, yeah, and that was hard and scary, but the rest of the time I was myself. I did bad in school, but it never made me feel like this—like, sick and angry and exhausted all the time—when my dad died, I was really sad, but it wasn't, like, I wasn't so—" your gestures are becoming wild now, and Kenma puts a gentle hand on your arm to calm them. You release a large, over-the-top sigh, "I wasn't so empty!"

You realize you're trembling, so you clap your hands together and clasp them tightly to stop it.

"Shouyou—"

"You're supposed to be upset when your parent dies! But I—I don't know what this is now! I keep hoping it'll just leave—if I call it something I'm scared it'll stick in me and never go away! I don't want this—" your voice catches in your throat and the rest won't come out, so you scream instead: a low, strangled cry that isn't nearly cathartic enough.

Kenma grabs your shoulder, panicked, "Shou, we have neighbors."

You collapse backward onto the mattress and roll so your back is to them, curling on your side, "Sorry."

There is silence for a long time.

Finally, Kenma says, "You're not asleep, are you?"

"No."

"Are you angry?"

"No...Yes. Not at you."

They sigh, "I—I'm sorry. I should have noticed sooner that you were so—I didn't realize you felt this way, Shouyou."

You are silent. You don't know what to say to that.

"It really is okay, though—what you're saying, that sounds like depression. And you—it's something you have to deal with. You can't ignore it. But it can get better. It's like—" you peek at them over your shoulder, and they're kind of flapping their hands the same way you do when you can't find a word, "—it's normal. Depression is not, like, good, but it's normal. You can't expect yourself to be happy and positive all the time. And your mom—I'm sure you haven't told her how you feel, right?"

You hide your face again, "No."

Kenma's voice is gentle, "Shou, she wants you to take care of yourself. And I do, too. And that means, um, being—being honest. You have to be honest about how you're feeling. Because you—it doesn't matter if you call it "empty," or "depressed," or nothing at all because you're scared—it's still there. The name just helps you…fight it."

There's silence for a long time.

"Shouyou…are you okay?"

"No."

"Are you…going to be okay?"

You roll over onto your back and squint at Kenma. The evening sun is coming through the window and giving them a halo of gold. You sigh.

"I…don't know."

"Okay."

"I feel," you make a crushing motion with your hands in front of you, "wrinkled. And scraped up on the inside. Like my heart just tripped on a sidewalk a bunch."

"I—"

You stare up at the ceiling. "I feel bad. Like really bad. But it's not—it's not like before, when I was trying to hold it all in and ignore it. I think I'm giving up on that. You're right; it doesn't help. It just makes things worse. It makes me act like an asshole to you, and I don't like that. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I wasn’t great either."

"But also, I still don't know how to do this."

"What?"

"This!" You gesture at yourself, "I don't know how to be someone who deals with stuff. I don't know how to—to tell my mom I'm—" you break off into furious silence, unsure of why you feel so terribly angry and so unable to do anything about it.

Kenma moves and lies down beside you, staring upward too. The setting sun is hitting the lamp on the bedside table and sending a bunch of watery reflections across the ceiling.

"I've been 'someone who deals with stuff' for a long time."

You sigh, "I know. This all probably seems really pointless to you, doesn't it?"

"No! What are you talking about?" Kenma turns over to look at you, propping themself on one arm.

They're so outraged and it’s so uncharacteristic that it makes you laugh. You press your hands over your face as you dissolve in giggles.

"Shouyou—" they try to sound stern, but then they're laughing, too, and they collapse onto your chest, burying their face in your shirt.

The two of you quiet after a minute and don't say anything right away.

Then Kenma says, quietly, "You don't really think that, do you? That I think this is pointless?"

You shift uncomfortably, "I—um. No?"

"Shouyou?"

"I think it's pointless!" You gesture grandly, opening your arms toward the ceiling, "And annoying! And if I think that, it seems like it must be really annoying to everyone else."

"It's not." This is mumbled into your shirt, barely audible.

"Kenma?"

They are silent, face buried in your chest, and you sense that they're upset and trying not to let on.

You aren't sure what to say. Instead, you put an arm around them and curl on your side, so you’re still holding them but you can see their face. They hide in their hair.

You push back their bangs so you can see their eyes tightly closed.

"I'm sorry!" Kenma says suddenly, voice thick with emotion, "I didn't want to—we were talking about you, so I didn't want to get upset, but—"

"Hey! It's okay!" You turn and kiss the side of their head, "Sad Kenmas are something I know how to deal with!"

Kenma sighs and you feel their breath warm against your neck, "I don't—I don't want you to ever think I don't take you seriously. You—people write you off unfairly all the time. I don't want to be one of those people."

"Okay. I'm sorry I made you upset."

"No! It's not—" they open their eyes and look at you, their gaze sharp as ever, "This stuff isn't a joke. It's—it's pulling you apart, and I already didn't fully realize what was going on until today. I'm just—normally I notice everything. I—I guess I didn't expect it from you. You have always seemed kind of untouchable—and I realize—I realize now I was doing what you said you were afraid of everyone doing—treating you like an—an endless light source. I'm so sorry."

They're alarmingly watery-eyed, and you rub a hand roughly over your face and untangle yourself from them, sitting up cross-legged. They sit up next to you and pull their knees to their chest.

"It's—um, it's not that big of a deal. It's okay. It isn't your fault, you know? I'm just—" you stop short of calling yourself ‘stupid,’ because you know they hate that. Instead, you shrug.

Kenma shrugs too. You stare at each other.

There's a tension between you for several seconds, but then you both snort and break into giggles again, falling against each other and then backward onto the bed again. You lace your fingers with theirs and kiss them smiling.

When you pull away, you take a big breath and sigh loudly.

“Me too,” Kenma says.

“It feels good,” you say, “To exhale.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> comment moderation is on to deter transphobes <3


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